About two years ago my family made the usual trip home to Indiana for Christmas with our extended family.  For the pastor that means leaving the day after Christmas and heading to whever family might be.  I am not really sure how this Christmas trip was so much different than any of the other ones we have made for nearly three decades.  We arrived.  We celebrated.  We ate.  We gave and received gifts.  It was all very good.

On one of those days (and I don’t remember which one it was) between Christmas and New Year’s Day I made my way to my parent’s family room in the basement of their home.  I found myself sitting on the corner of the couch.  The fire place was roaring, and I just began to stare at it.  Over the next hour or so, I sat all alone staring at the fire.  The power of those moments are still with me.  An awareness came over me this was a holy place.  From the time I was ten years old until I was married at twenty-two years old this was my place.  I would sit in front of the fire for hours, reading, praying, sometimes just watching TV.

Two years ago I was able to reflect on all of the decisions I asked God to help me make.  It was on that couch in that spot that I came to the realization the woman who said she loved me was the woman I loved in return.  The spot on the couch was also the spot where my grandfather used to sit with me during Notre Dame football games.

The uninterrupted hour in front of the fire became a moment of God’s deep and overwhelming holiness pouring over my life.  The Lord blessed me with a holy place, where the joys and sorrows of life  could be experienced all over again.  As my mind raced through the stories of school, church, relationships and many other critical moments, I was reminded of the time when Evan was about two years old and my father fashioned a plastic tub with a rope.  Dad raced around the basement holding onto the rope with Evan in tow.  Their laughter was the laughter of heaven.

I asked the Lord to allow these moments in front of the fire to never end.  I just wanted to sit their and soak in the memories of God’s faithfulness, joy and peace.  The Lord’s answer came rather quickly.  In a split second the basement was now filled with Becky, Evan, Mom, Dad, my brother, Doug, my sister-in-law, Sheila, and my nieces, Abigail and Ella.  The message was pretty clear it seemed:  Holy places are not always solitary places.

I was reminded again about holy places last weekend.  Evan and I journeyed to South Bend, Indiana to take in a Notre Dame football game.  I regret that my working on Sunday has prevented the experience until it was Evan’s 18th birthday celebration.  As we drove on campus, it happened again.  This was a holy place.  This was a place where God met me over and over and over again.  This was the place where my grandfather walked the campus in the 1920’s.  This was the place where I walked the campus in the 1980’s.  This place is the most sacred place I know, but it’s not for all of the reasons you might think.

Football games do NOT make Notre Dame a holy place.  I love Notre Dame football.  I am far too rapped up in their wins and losses.  Yet, last weekend I came face to face with the way God sanctifies places, so that those who go there are forever changed by God’s presence in that place.   As we walked the campus I pointed out everything I could to Evan.  I showed him the engineering buildings (he wants to be an engineer).  I showed him my old dormitory, Flanner Hall, which is now faculty offices.  I showed him Corby Hall, the dorm right next to the basilica of the Sacred Heart, which my grandfather lived in Room 107 all those years ago.  We stopped at the Grotto to pray.  We walked by the lakes, and through the beautiful woods of the campus.

Of course, we stopped at the library, and took pictures of the giant mural of Jesus with his arms outstretched.  We cheered on the football team and coaches as they walked from Mass to the stadium.  We absolutely loved being in Notre Dame stadium screaming and laughing and high-fiving at all 62 points the Irish scored that day.  Still, none of this makes Notre Dame a holy place.

What makes Notre Dame a holy place for me is that God sancified the space for my four years there.  Christ was in the friendships and conversations that would often go through most of the night.  Christ was in the classroom.  I remember the first theology class I took.  A relatively new professor, Catherine LaCugna was the professor.  She had completed her PhD under the legendary Avery Cardinal Dulles in trinitarian theology.  I had never been so deeply moved by a lecturer in my life.  I had never encountered the Triune God in such a way with my total being.  For the first time the brief prayer  at the reading of the gospel in worship had actually come to life for me:  “May the gospel be on my mind (make the sign of the cross on my forehead), on my lips (make the sign of the cross on my lips), and on my heart (make the sign of the cross over my heart).

Professor LaCugna taught me to love God and neighbor with my total being.  Her classroom was a holy place.  Still, it wasn’t the only place at Notre Dame where God’s holiness prevailed.  Weeknight prayer services in my dormitory led by business professor, Fr. Ollie Williams, among others, were constant reminders of God’s faithfulness in all things.  Then, there was the Helen Kellogg Institute for International Studies.  God made the professors and students of the Institute my dialog partners, as my eyes were opened to the religious roots of revolution in places like Nicaragua, El Salvador, and Guatemala.  In all of this I kept seeing my life as filled with holy places.

I am now nearly thirty years past those experiences.  Professor LaCugna is with the Lord after dying way too early, but I walked passed the buildings and through the corridors that remain for me holy places.  I wandered past her old office in the Decio Faculty building.  I thought about what I would want to talk about now.  Most of all, in the deepest sense of my being I felt all over again the holiness of God.  I was on holy ground, and I could NOT deny it.

I tried to convey to Evan the depth of my gratitude to God for the gift of holy places.  I tried, but I failed.  The words seemed to fall flat.  I was too overcome in some of those moments with emotions, which made my words unintelligible.  I said to him finally:  “Evan for me this will always be a holy place, but you will never fully know that until it is your holy place.  That may never be the case, but God will give you holy places in your life.”

There was that moment; however, when I think something of what I was saying got to him.  I had know the expression before.  You see Evan and I have shared many holy places together.  His baptism on Fathers’ Day, when he was just seven months old was one of them.  The times when we would take our dogs on walks and talk about life were other ones.  The incredibly moments kneeling beside his bed and praying together were all holy moments.

Sometimes though the holy moments in holy places just overwhelm us both.  In August we hiked ten miles through the moutains up toward Boreass Pass in Colorado.  Upon reaching the peak of our walk he told me, “Thanks, Dad, for doing this with me.  I love you.”  On Saturday, a week ago, I was overwhelmed by another holy moment in a holy place:   The game was over and our time was drawing to a close.  This time there were no words, just a brief moment…when my son–the eighteen year old man–put his head on my shoulder.  He paused just long enough for me to know what it meant.  The Lord had done it again.  Notre Dame had become a holy place for yet another young person, and it had everything to do with the presence of the Holy Spirit.

My prayer for you is that God gives you lots of holy places.